The Beach
by Kizzykat
Summary: Olympias takes a five year old Alexander to the beach. Sort of a followup to 'Philip'.


**The Beach by Kizzykat**

**(revised)**

On a warm summer's morning, Olympias was sitting with her baby stepdaughter Thessalonike on her knee in the cool stoa overlooking her garden in the palace at Pella. The baby had a bit of cradle cap on her scalp and Olympias was gently rubbing it loose through the fine hair with a little oil on her fingertips. The child's mother Nicesipolis had been unwell for several days and Olympias was tending the child for her.

Alexander, who had just turned five, came wandering disconsolately along the stoa, scuffing his feet and scowling. He halted beside his mother and laid his head on her shoulder. Olympias, sensing he was looking for trouble, ignored him for the moment and carried on rubbing the baby's scalp.

When he got no response from Olympias, Alexander poked a finger at his year-old half-sister. The baby, looking at him with interest, reached for his finger with her small hand, and uttered an eager sound.

"Why wasn't she born a boy?" Alexander wanted to know, watching as the baby caught hold of his finger.

"Because the gods didn't ordain it," his mother said, putting a hand round Thessalonike's ribs before the baby tumbled off her knee.

"Why?" Alexander said, pulling his hand out of Thessalonike's reach. "I want a brother to play with."

"You've got Arrhidaeus."

"He's no good. He drops things and then he starts crying when I shout at him."

"Alexander, I've told you not to shout at Arrhidaeus. Not everyone is as quick and agile as you are."

"Why aren't they?"

Olympias suppressed a sigh. "Because it would be a very tiresome world if we all ran around at top speed like you usually do."

"Why would it? Why can't I have a brother to run races with?"

Olympias felt a momentary desire to throttle her firstborn. "If you are a good boy, perhaps the gods will bless you with another brother one day."

It was too early to tell Alexander, but Olympias's own belly was beginning to swell with a baby that would hopefully be born before midwinter. But she knew what the problem was. Alexander's eldest half-brother Aeropus, Philip's son by the Elimote Phila, had died a few months back. The boy had been thrown from a horse and had cracked his skull open, and Alexander still missed him dreadfully.

"Where is Lysimachus?" Olympias asked to distract Alexander. She also wanted to know where the boy's tutor was. "I thought he was taking you to the beach today."

"He's in bed," Alexander answered. "He says he's sick, but I think he's got a hangover."

"I think you're probably right. I shall have to have words with Lysimachus," Olympias said, stoppering the little jar of oil she had been using. She handed it to the maid and wiped her fingers.

Alexander looked at her with uncertainty in his eyes. "You won't make him go away will you?" he asked anxiously.

"Of course not," Olympias said. "I will just make sure he knows his duty."

Alexander did not look appeased. "You always make people go away you do not like."

"I do not," Olympias said indignantly, and then remembered she was talking to a five year old, and a maid was listening. She handed the baby to the maid. "Take her inside and give her a drink. I'll be in shortly," she said.

As the maid walked indoors with Thessalonike, Olympias turned her attention back to her son. "Alexander, what makes you say that? I don't make people go away just because I don't like them."

"You made Lanike go away," he said with a frown.

"No, I didn't. Alexander, Lanike has her own children to look after, and you're a big boy now; you don't need a nurse any more." Alexander still did not look happy. "We'll go and see her again in a few days," Olympias said. "How will that be?"

Alexander's bottom lip threatened to stick out. "You make father go away as well."

Olympias looked at her son in real surprise. She took Alexander's hands in her own.

"Alexander, what makes you say that? Your father goes away because he is a king and he has an army to lead. It has nothing to do with me."

Alexander did not look convinced. "You always start singing when he goes away. And you stop singing when he comes home."

Olympias blinked. She hadn't been aware that she did that. "Your father doesn't like my singing," she improvised. "I have a terrible voice."

"No, you don't. You sing like a bird. Like a blackbird," Alexander stated.

Olympias was nonplussed. "Well, when your father comes home I usually have so much to do, sorting out his clothes and making sure he has all his favourite foods and everything, that I don't have time to sing. I have to get everything ready for when he has to go away again."

Alexander looked at her from under his brows. "You made Aeropus go away too," he said accusingly.

"Alexander," Olympias said in horror, ""what on earth put that idea in your head? I had nothing to do with Aeropus' death. His death was an accident. Was I there to scare the horse? I would never harm a child." Olympias wondered what she had done to deserve this.

Alexander's eyes met hers with a mixture of anger and trepidation. "Phila said Aeropus' death was the answer to your prayers."

Olympias sat back in anger. "Did she," she said.

"Yes. Did you pray for Aeropus to go away and leave me? I don't have anyone to play with now."

"Alexander, that is nonsense," Olympias said, more sharply than she intended as she stood up. "There are plenty of children for you to play with."

Olympias paced about the stoa. She could not believe how much outraged anger she felt. She understood the other woman's bitterness at the death of her child, but that was no cause to malign Olympias when all she had done was keep her own child out of harm's way. It revealed the depth of Phila's jealousy of Olympias that she would utter such words in front of Alexander.

Aware of Alexander watching her, Olympias quelled her anger. It would do no good to crow over Phila: push her jealousy too far and she might decide to harm Alexander, although she was such a mouse, Olympias reflected, that she probably would never find the courage. Olympias looked at Alexander. She would take her son out of the palace for the day, where he could not provoke Phila and where Olympias could feel free and unfettered for a few hours.

"Alexander, shall we go to the beach instead?"

"Yes!" Alexander cried, jumping up in the air, his troubles forgotten.

Later that afternoon, Olympias sat on the sandy beach, presiding over a gaggle of royal women, maidservants, children, rugs and baskets. The children had splashed about in the shallow waves; they had been fed, and now they been playing happily for some time in the sand. All except Thessalonike, who was sitting on Olympias's lap playing with a shell because if she sat on the sand she kept putting it in her mouth. And Alexander, whom Olympias had been watching for a few moments.

"Alexander!" Olympias called sharply. He had been about to jump on the sandcastle his sisters Cynane and Cleopatra were building and decorating with shells. Alexander was getting bored and troublesome and if Olympias didn't find something to distract him, he would end up hitting someone.

Cleopatra had seen what her brother was about to do and was advancing on him with her three year old fist raised, defending her castle.

"Cleopatra, if you hit your brother, you will feel my hand," Olympias said sharply. Cleopatra turned and glared at her mother with a look that was pure Philip. She contented herself with sticking her tongue out at Alexander and turned and stomped back to her sandcastle.

"Alexander," Olympias said, "do you want to go for a walk?"

"Yes," he said, coming up to her.

Hefting Thessalonike onto her hip, Olympias stood up. A wave of queasiness washed over her. She hadn't felt well since they'd arrived and had a stomach ache that was growing worse. If was an upset stomach, perhaps she could relieve herself among the rocks of the headland, which might help.

She waved off the maids who rose to accompany her, adjusted Thessalonike's linen sun-bonnet and walked towards the shoreline with Alexander in tow.

"Alexander, put your sunhat on," she said as they walked over the smooth sand towards the sea, the breeze ruffling Alexander's curls. His straw hat was hanging by its ribbon on the back of his neck.

"No, I don't want to," he said. He had found a piece of sea-bleached driftwood and was writing a large 'A' in the damp sand.

"Fine. If you want to get sunburnt and sore, don't come crying to me tonight," Olympias said.

"It's scratchy," Alexander complained. He dropped his stick and raised his sunhat above his head, inspecting its underside.

"I'm not surprised, the way you bash it about. Look at all the bits of straw sticking out. Put it on for now, and we'll find you a new one when we go home."

Alexander pushed the hat onto his head, struggling to pull the tied ribbon under his chin. Olympias let him do it on his own, swallowing against a mouthful of bile. The dazzle of the sunlight on the sea was making her feel nauseous and she raised a hand to shade her eyes as she stood at the water's edge. Alexander paddled in the shallow water, jumping over the clear wavelets.

The breeze off the water was cool and felt good on Olympias's face. She closed her eyes and stood, letting the breeze wrap her dress against her body.

"You've got a fat tummy," Alexander said suddenly. He was standing with the little waves around his ankles, his toes getting buried by the sea in the sand.

Olympias laughed joyfully. "Have I?" she said. "Perhaps there's a baby in there."

Alexander came nearer, wonder in his eyes underneath his sunhat. "A baby brother?" he asked.

"We'll have to wait and see," Olympias said, smiling at him.

She set Thessalonike down, holding on to her hands as they walked forward to let the clear water run over the baby's fat little feet. Thessalonike crowed with delight, raising her feet and splashing as Alexander, with a laugh, came and took one of her hands. They turned and walked slowly at the baby's pace towards the rocks of the headland.

Olympias picked Thessalonike up as they reached the grey rocks. She swallowed again. Her nausea and her stomach ache had returned and she hurriedly followed Alexander who was already scrambling over the rocks.

Once out of sight of the party on the beach, Olympias sat Thessalonike down on a patch of sand. "Alexander, watch your sister for a moment," she said, and Alexander came back from where he had been poking about under an overhang of rock.

He looked questioningly at his mother as he stood over Thessalonike while Olympias clambered over a rock. "Watch her," Olympias ordered.

She tried to clamp back the groan as her stomach cramped badly before she had even had time to squat. She wondered briefly if Phila had managed to poison her.

"Ohhh," she cried in pain, crouching as her stomach cramped violently. Before she had time to lift her dress, she felt the hot blood run down her thigh and knew she was losing the baby. With a groan she sank down and curled against the rock, wrapping her arms across her aching belly.

"Mother!" Alexander's anxious cry reached her.

"Watch your sister!" Olympias ordered through her tears of pain and grief.

Alexander scrambled over the rock and stood uncertainly watching his mother.

"You're bleeding," he said.

"I cut my leg," Olympias lied. "Alexander, you have to bring Thessalonike to me and then go get some help. Bring Philinna." Philinna was Arrhidaeus's mother and fairly dependable.

Wordlessly, Alexander scrambled back over the rock to his sister, his face set.

"Alexander, go round the rock," Olympias called as another spasm went through her belly. "Don't try to climb with her, you'll drop her."

Alexander appeared around the end of the rock, wading through the water and struggling under the weight of Thessalonike, who was beginning to protest at being held too tightly and awkwardly. He set the squirming child down beside Olympias, the child's small toes in the blood soaked sand. She began to cry.

"Is my baby brother alright?" Alexander asked fearfully.

"No, Alexander, no," Olympias cried, tears streaming from her eyes. "Hurry." She put her arm around Thessalonike to comfort her.

Alexander clambered rapidly over the rocks and out of Olympias's sight. Once on the level sand, he took to his heels, his sunhat flying off his head, and ran as though his life depended upon it.

That evening, Olympias lay in her bed, empty and bereft. Vulnerable tears and grief were not far away, though at the moment she was spent. She had sent all the women away, compassionate Philinna, a distressed and surprisingly upset Phila, and all the well-meaning but ineffectual rest. Olympias needed a while alone to come to terms with the loss of her child.

Hot, forlorn tears burnt her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She was young; there would be another child. By the time Philip returned in the autumn she would be strong again, and she would have him home for the whole winter – plenty of time to fall pregnant again.

Would he forgive her for losing his child?

A small sound came at the door and Alexander stood there hesitantly, holding on to the door latch with one hand and the edge of the door with the other.

Olympias gave him a watery smile and he took that as invitation to enter, very carefully closing the door after him. He came quietly across the room and stood by his mother's bedside.

Olympias's smile warmed at his tearful face. She raised her arm and he climbed carefully onto the bed. He lay down beside her, snuggling up against her breast as she wrapped her arm around him.

"Did the baby go away?" he asked, his voice low.

"Yes, Alexander," Olympias said, tears spilling over and rolling unseen down her cheeks. "The gods just don't want some babies to be born."

"I don't want a baby brother if it makes you hurt and cry," Alexander said, his breath hot against her tender breast and his muffled words scarcely audible.

"Oh, sweetheart, none of us can tell what the future will bring. Perhaps one day."

Olympias was silent, suddenly agreeing with Alexander that she didn't think she could take this heartbreak again. She never wanted to try for another baby, even if it meant wishing infertility upon Philip. She prayed to the gods that her husband would never visit her bed again, and held onto her son long after he had fallen asleep.


End file.
